Are You Too Rich? I'm Here To Help

Jim Shea

I know the prevailing wisdom is that you can't be too rich or too thin, but that misconception is probably the work of the same folks who would have you believe money can't buy happiness.

Money, particularly in small, unmarked bills, can buy you happiness, and you can be too thin, although this has yet to be discovered by the cheekbones-on-a-stick set.

I've been mulling the too-rich thing ever since reading that the 400 wealthiest Americans are now worth a combined $1 trillion.

If you have trouble grasping just how big a pile of happiness a trillion represents, think about it this way: If you were to write a check for that amount, you would begin with the number one, and then jot down zeroes until you went into oxygen debt.

But how do you define too rich?

In simple terms, it is when your ability to spend exceeds your ability to spree. In other words, when you have bought all the houses, cars, clothes, planes and jewelry you can possibly use and have traded in your longtime spouse for a perky prenuptial agreement.

The problem then becomes: What do you do with the rest of the money? This can be a real pain in the portfolio, because the only thing harder than amassing a fortune is unloading one.

I mean, you can't keep it in the usual places -- banks, bonds, stocks -- because it will breed, and you can't just stash it in a giant security box because the IRS will make a face.

Sure, you could pay taxes, which would pretty much take care of the matter, but then, you do have your principles.

Another option is to become the owner of a professional sports franchise. But while this can rid you of a large chunk of change, it can also put you at risk for having 60,000 unhappy fans chanting your name in conjunction with a body part.

The solution, I think, is for the too-rich to share their burden with the too-credit-card-maxed. We would have no problem disposing of their annoying excess.

Right off the top of my head, I can come up with four ways to turn a pesky half-billion to vapor:

First, I would get my own lane on the highway. I would give the state $200 million or so for the HOV lane. This would be a good deal all around. It would allow the state to finally get some traffic on the deserted strip, and I could get to work without having to overtax my finger.

Next, I would reach an agreement with area TV stations to contact me whenever any local businessman wanted to make his own commercial. Once notified, I would make the following offer to the station: I will give you $1 million not to run the commercial.

Another thing I would do is buy my place of employment. I would do this not for love but revenge. Once in control, I would fire everyone who has ever refused to give me a raise, laughed at my expense report or made me cover a zoning meeting.

Finally, on the personal-improvement front, I would get some plastic surgery. Nothing radical. Maybe something between my present face and Cher's.